


The Lippy Linguist

by one_blue_eye



Series: Half Way Out of the Dark [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Complete, Embedded Images, Gen, John Watson blogs about dangerous things, John Watson feels left out, John has no idea what is really happening, John's blog has borders and a background, Mycroft Holmes is jealous, Sherlock's friend knows more about him than John does, Unacknowledged sexual attraction, a case fic (sort of), tea as a coping mechanism, this is silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-02
Updated: 2012-11-29
Packaged: 2017-11-17 14:22:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_blue_eye/pseuds/one_blue_eye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are times, when even John gets left out. While Sherlock works a case with a mysterious friend, John watches from the relative safety of his armchair. From the sidelines, John & Mycroft share the bitter taste of jealousy as well as a few texts. </p><p> <br/>[Remember that episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer where Xander got left out and had his own adventure with those crazy dead dudes? Well, that's where this idea sprang from. So, thanks Xander.]</p><p>[John's Blog is now a very pretty green table with borders; links & images [texts between Mycroft & John] have been fixed for CHROME, FIREFOX & IE]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**HE SAW SHERLOCK APPROACH IN HIS PERIPHERAL VISION** just as his fingers tapped out the final key. He felt his body tense slightly and flinched pre-emptively while he waited for Sherlock to magically appear over his shoulder. He’d just finished another blog entry and was having a hard time coming up with a clever title. John had a sinking feeling that Sherlock would take this momentary pause in typing as his cue to begin deconstructing his writing. However, in his experience It felt rather more like being emotionally disembowelled than constructive criticism.

 

 

As expected, Sherlock stopped in his tracks and leaned over John’s left shoulder. He read the title silently and it took about a nanosecond for him to react. “The _Lippy Linguist_ ,” he scoffed, a little less derisively than he normally did. But John flinched just the same because his left ear had taken a lot of abuse lately, thanks to Sherlock’s frequent ear sneering. Sherlock added a rather unbecoming snort to the mix, possibly to help convey his utter disbelief or because he enjoyed inflicting a little eardrum pain. Or maybe both, John couldn't be sure. The sneering and the snorting nearly jostled the open textbook that Sherlock had been carting around in his right hand but he caught it just in time and snapped it shut neatly, this time in John’s right ear. He followed with an uneasy chuckle and added, “You know she reads your blog, John. Why put yourself in danger like that?” Sherlock was still reading the entry over John’s shoulder and it was hard to tell if he liked it or not.

 

 

A quiet chuckle slipped out while he was reading, which had been happening a lot lately, and then he read his favorite bit out loud, “…or I’ll _eviscerate_ you… hmf hmf… funny.” He patted John on the shoulder and quietly added, “Good times,” then sauntered away. John was quite confused by his reaction but you’d think he’d be used to it by now; Sherlock had been acting strangely for days.

 

 

Suddenly, John was less concerned about whether Sherlock liked his writing or not. _It’s her opinion that counts_ , he thought to himself—and by counts he meant she had the power to shorten his lifespan rather drastically so he’d rather not make her grumpy.

 

 

He didn’t post this blog entry. He just left it on his computer for safe-keeping. Maybe, sometime in the future he’ll be able to post it online. Over the next few days, he does add to it though as he thinks of things that happened. Who else is he going to talk to about this?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

THE PERSONAL BLOG OF  
Dr. John H. Watson  
---  
21st April  
  
##### The Lippy Linguist (unposted)  
  
In the grand scheme of things, she’s likely as powerful as Mycroft—certainly more terrifying (sorry Mycroft, but it’s true). On the plus side, her actions and words are far more definitive than the average politician (or minor government official). If she likes you and calls you her friend, she’ll defend you against the devil but if you rub her the wrong way, she’ll end your sweet oblivious existence and no one—not even the entire pantheon of gods and goddesses working in single-minded harmony could save you from her wrath. By her, I mean Sherlock’s new ‘friend’. A lady friend. A very lovely lady friend. Leave it to Sherlock to befriend the one woman who makes Mycroft green with envy. Oh, what he’d do to get her to ‘consult’ for him. 

…

On the surface, you’ll see an attractive woman in her late 30’s, who looks younger than her actual age (she swears her secret is the daily application of sunscreen). She has impeccable fashion sense but loathes discomfort. She foreswears high heels, pantyhose and anything else that causes a woman discomfort. How would I know this you ask? Well, for starters she actually stayed here—at my, our flat—for a case of course. I got a firsthand look at Sherlock’s new lady friend, including her amazing assortment of pyjamas and kimonos that rival Sherlock’s collection. And of course, her daily beauty regimen which includes the liberal application of sunscreen products. 

…

You’d hardly recognize Sherlock in her presence—except for the fact that she brings out more of his Sherlockiness (if that were even possible).  And it is. Possible. I’ve seen it. He revels in her… presence. There’s no other way to describe it. He says she soothes his brain like some kind of soothing brain balm. I’m positive she’s as clever as he is. She insists that she’s not but Sherlock just nods his head solemnly behind her back. So who do you think I’m going to believe? Sherlock, of course.

…

What’s her job you might ask? I did. I got the standard answer, “If I tell you darling, I’ll have to eviscerate you.” At least she says it sweetly and almost always kisses me on the cheek. You can see why I keep asking.    

   
  
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John wishes Mycroft would just leave him alone [with his pity party].
> 
> Language note: John swears (usually). Sherlock does not (not even inside his head).
> 
> Image note: images show up in Chrome and Firefox. Click the link if it doesn't show up on your browser and it'll take you to Google Sites. Click download and it'll pop up on screen.

**THE CASE THAT BROUGHT HER TO 221B BAKER STREET**  was a strange one. John was not involved, per se. It was hard to keep up with the two of them. Half of the time he didn’t even know what they were talking about. John sat and listened mostly, from the safety of his ratty old chair. He tried (unsuccessfully) to catch up on his reading but all he managed to do was pretend to be busy. With an attention span that bordered on non-existent, John found it hard to concentrate. At best, he was able to flip through an interesting journal article, read a pithy article in a fashion magazine and stare at the cover of a cheesy crime novel. Quite frequently, he caught snippits from the kitchen but he couldn't tell you what any of it meant.

 

 

 John would say they were equally balanced. She held her own in non-traditional medicine while he excelled at chemistry.

 

 

 

 

> “Of course we’ll have to use the traditional pao zhi method of preparation Sherlock. Don’t be silly!”

 

 

They spoke constantly, voices over-lapping, almost always challenging, frequently cajoling; they were obviously having the time of their lives.

 

 

 

 

> “No-no-no. Obviously, that particular drug acts presynaptically via the inhibition of acetylcholine (ACh) synthesis. Paralysis of the vocal cords occurs first. That’s the exact opposite of what we need.”

 

 

 

Then there was the ‘product development’. It was like having two Sherlocks. All they did was encourage each other and inevitably, try to out-do one another. It all started when one proposed the creation of a chemical compound that could supposedly leave its victim awake but unable to move anything other than their mouth. Then the other suggested the addition of a truth serum. It just snowballed from there. John (in his endless wisdom) stood back (out of range), tried to stay out of the way (of the explosions and wayward poisoned darts) and observed (jealously) as two pyjama-clad maniacs created a symphony of brilliance.

 

 

From his position of relative safety (most likely crouched behind his airchair) he had a rather unique oportunity to observe Sherlock in action. He noticed a number of changes, some more upsetting than others. The first change John noticed was the increase in laughter. That one really hurt. He’d never heard Sherlock so happy. He even caught him humming at one point. And the gazes. The gazes where… heartbreaking.

 

 

Whenever one of them said something extremely clever (which was always) the other would just gaze into their eyes. The gazes were often accompanied by a sigh (from Sherlock) or a little gasp (from her).

 

 

 

 

> “Oh… You. Are. Clever.” _Sigh_.
> 
>  
> 
> … 

>  
> 
> Sharply indrawn breath, “Sherlock… that’s marvelous,” followed by a slight pant on the exhale.

 

 

John was drawn to each and every one. His eyes automatically locked on and then his heart clenched a little. He couldn’t think of a single reason why.

 

 

Then to make matters worse, when she made him food  _Sherlock actually ate it_. John was nearly beside himself.   _What is her secret?_    _What is her secret?_ _What is her secret?_ His internal monologue was being transformed from what was once relatively well-adjusted into an unwanted chanted mantra born of jealously and increasing bitterness and it was leaving a bad taste in his mouth.

 

 

John wasn’t the only one who was jealous and feeling a bit left out. Mycroft took to texting John as a means of coping. He texted Sherlock first of course but Sherlock ignored his texts even more than usual and he certainly didn’t answer any of his phone calls.

 

 

 [IMAGE LINK: LIPPY LINGUIST_C2_TEXTS FROM MH TO SH_7.29PM](https://sites.google.com/site/blueceinwen/home/sherlock---lippy-linguist/LIPPY%20LINGUIST_C2_TEXTS%20FROM%20MH%20TO%20SH_7.29PM.JPG)

 

 

Being ignored is one of Mycroft’s biggest pet peeves (as Sherlock knows perfectly well). John started answering out of loneliness (he thinks) and the pitiful camaraderie of the rejected (he’s certain). At first, the texts were a little nasty (jealously talking) but then they got a little more familiar.

 

 

 

Mycroft started sending John texts the day after she showed up at their door. At least he waited until John opened his eyes.

 

 

 

[IMAGE LINK: LIPPY LINGUIST_C2_TEXTS FROM MH TO JW_6.27AM](https://sites.google.com/site/blueceinwen/home/sherlock---lippy-linguist/LIPPY%20LINGUIST_C2_TEXTS%20BTN%20MH%20%26%20JW_6.27AM.JPG)

 

 

 

[IMAGE LINK: LIPPY LINGUIST_C2_TEXTS FROM MH TO JW_6.33AM](https://sites.google.com/site/blueceinwen/home/sherlock---lippy-linguist/LIPPY%20LINGUIST_C2_TEXTS%20BTN%20MH%20%26%20JW_6.33AM.JPG)

 

  

 “Why am I not surprised?” John mused aloud.

 

“What is it, John?” Sherlock spoke loudly, allowing his voice to travel but he didn’t lift his face from the microscope.

 

“Let me see…” She pushed him out of the way and to John’s surprise,  _he let her_  and he didn’t even complain. He even grinned at her.

 

John stood there with his mouth hanging open.

 

Now that he'd been expelled from his rightful position at the microscope, Sherlock chose to move to the living room. “John?” Sherlock prompted again.

 

“Oh… it’s just Mycroft," John pitched his voice low, "He’s asking about your friend.”  He didn’t want to be rude.

 

“ ** _Our_**   friend, John,” Sherlock reminded him with a smile. John nodded and breathed through his nose. He wasn’t very convincing. “Problem?” Sherlock asked. A frown was starting to mar his face.

 

“No. No, nothing’s wrong. He’s just being Mycroft. You know. _Nosey_.”

 

Sherlock rose an elegant brow. He frowned and wondered, _Why are you deflecting John?_ He had to agree with John, though. Mycroft was always nosey. He was consistent at least. Consistently annoying in Sherlock’s opinion.

 

“What does **_he_** want now?” she asked. As she walked across the room, she brushed an unknown powder from her trousers. She directed her question at John, the first in days. He was a little flustered by the attention so he nearly dropped his phone.

 

“He just wants to know what we’re up to, I guess.” John told her. “Do you… _know_ him?” John looked at Sherlock with his forehead creased accordingly for the situation and then at her.

 

“Oh, yes. We go back,” she assured him.

 

John was stunned. “You go back?”

 

“Way back.”

 

“Oh.” _I see._ John felt his world slipping a few degrees to the left, just past well and truly under-fucking-strain. 

_Who am I kidding?_

_I don’t see at all._

_What the hell is going on?_

_Again?_

 

As we know, the best way to deal with any difficult situation (if you’re British) is with a nice cup of tea. So off he went. “Tea?” he cleared his throat, “Anyone?” He pulled delicately at his collar as he made his way to the kitchen cum laboratory.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Wikipedia: 
> 
> The roots of Aconitum ferox (also known as aconite, monkshood & wolf's bane) contains large quantities of the alkaloid pseudaconitine, which is a deadly poison. Several species of Aconitum have been used as arrow poisons including the Nepalese poison called bikh, bish, or nabee [which is what Sherlock and his assassin friend have got their hands on]. In Ayurvedic and Traditional Asian Medicine the traditional pao zhi method of preparation reduces the toxicity of the poison.
> 
> Oh, and I know AT&T ins't British but it can't be helped. Just ignore that bit K?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John watches from the side-lines as Sherlock's experiment goes sideways.

**THE DAYS WENT BY IN A FLURRY OF SIGHT AND SOUND**. John had all but given up trying to help. He’d resigned himself to watching from the safety of his armchair. There he sat: Ambassador of courtesy and perpetual provider of tea. He felt left out but he certainly wasn’t bored. As usual, there was plenty to see. 

 

THE PERSONAL BLOG OF  
Dr. John H. Watson  
---  
23st April  
  
##### The Lippy Linguist (unposted)  
  
…

There was a  _thing_  with a dart gun and a prototype-poisoned-dart. Basically, Sherlock accidentally shot himself in the foot and she had to jab him with the antidote (at least they  _had_  an antidote!). It took a while to wear off though, and while he was under the influence, Sherlock suffered the effects of his ‘truth serum’ / ‘paralytic’. It was amusing, to say the least. Well, for me. Mostly.

…  
  
 

**SHERLOCK STARTED SPOUTING CRAP**  almost immediately.

 

 

“John has pretty hair doesn’t he?”

 

 

“Yes.” She giggled. “Of course he does.”

 

  
  
Every so often, he'd blurt out punchy little catch phrases like, “Good times,” and “You go girl.” When he began speaking in foreign languages, John sat by patiently (excluded again) and heaved a sigh while he waited for them to return to a language he could understand.

 

  
At one point, Sherlock was struggling to speak and going by the expression on his face, he was in pain. Then he locked eyes with her and asked, “Nǐ néng kànjiàn wǒ de xīnzàng tiàodòng ma?” [Can you see my heart beating?] John could tell it was a question and that it was obviously important but he had no idea what is was.

 

  
In response, she made a noise, a strangled sigh. She leaned over him, looked deeply into his eyes and stroked his cheek gently as she answered him, “Shì de, tā shì nǐ pángbiān.” [Yes, he's right next to you.] in Chinese, of course. John felt something important pass between them and his heart clenched painfully. He didn't often wish he could speak Chinese but at that moment, he surely wished that he could.

 

 

  
Sherlock went off on many tangents; with his will unfastened and his mouth unfettered,  his mind was free to snake up and down the corridors of his Mind Palace. “…When the mind/body system is subjected to… undue pressure of experience…” At times, he'd pause for an extended period and it seemed like he’d almost drifted off in the middle of a thought but then he’d suddenly snap to with increased urgency. “John, you do see don’t you?” His frustration became more apparent as time passed. “…not prepared to handle it in a balanced and integrated way… manifestations John. Manifestations.”

 

 

  
After an hour or so of babbling seemingly random non-sense, Sherlock’s thoughts started sounding a great deal more melancholic. Sherlock was trapped by the drug’s paralytic component and the side effects were completely unknown. Anything could happen. John couldn’t in good conscience, simply walk away even if he were uncomfortable with the situation. So he sat next to his mate, next to  _her_ , on the ground by Sherlock’s head while he babbled his heart out.

 

  
With every word spoken, John felt like he was intruding further upon Sherlock’s inner thoughts. He became distinctly uncomfortable when Sherlock started sounding sad.

 

  
“Isolation is devastating to the human psyche. You know, don’t you? I can see it.” He directed certain comments to her and others to John.

 

 

  
“Yes, darling. It’s draining. It’ll corrupt your heart. Keep your friends close. Always remember that. Keep your friends close.” She was kind and patient. She treated him with compassion. Sherlock never once scorned her for it, not then and not later. He didn’t see it as a weakness… not in her.

 

 

  
“Yes. Close. Yes.” At this point, Sherlock was finally able to close his eyes.

 

 

  
  
After three hours, Sherlock's heart was stiped bare and the crisis passed. Apparently, it was a lesson well learned because John noted a marked improvement in the judicious application of safety equipment after that little episode.

 

 

**AFTER A SIMPLE DINNER**  and a little more flirting around the kitchen table, she declared the day over.

 

 

  
“Come on you. You’re done.”

 

 

  
“What?! Ridiculous. I’ve got days in me yet.” Sherlock was insistent and John fully expected him to tell her to piss off.

 

 

  
“That is utter nonsense. Now.  _Come. To. Bed_.” It must be some trick of the female vocal range. She transformed into an indomitable mother figure before their very eyes.

 

 

  
Sherlock sighed, loudly and with a great deal of flourish. And then he simply acquiesced. “Oh. Alright.”

 

 

  
John had to press his lower jaw back into position. He couldn’t believe his eyes or ears. She says, “Let’s eat,” and Sherlock eats? She says, “Come to bed,” and Sherlock Holmes does what he’s told?

 

 

  
John fumed silently. _He hardly even put up a fight. What's she got... Oh, right. That. And that too._ The realization that perhaps she might have one or two things to offer Sherlock that he didn't chafed in all the wrong places.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes from: Deepak Chopra [Boundless Energy] and Gary Chapman [The Five Love Languages]


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John should know better, he really should. He tries to get a straight answer out of Sherlock.

**EARLY THE NEXT DAY,** John was pulled from an uneasy slumber by a persistent buzzing sound. He groaned loudly and dug deeper under his covers when he realized what it was. It was a text alert, signifying yet another message from Mycroft. The little piece of information he shared with John sent him into a tizzy. He read the message twice, cleared his eyes and then read it again. He had a few moments of panic (in the privacy of his own room) where he didn’t know what to do. To be fair, both his tizzy and his panic could have been attributed to the early hour but that was no where near being true.

 

[IMAGE LINK: LIPPY LINGUIST_C4_TEXTS BTN MH & JW_6.19AM](https://sites.google.com/site/blueceinwen/_/rsrc/1352355842549/home/sherlock---lippy-linguist/LIPPY%20LINGUIST_C4_TEXTS%20BTN%20MH%20%26%20JW_6.19AM.JPG)

 

For several minutes, John continued staring at his phone like it had grown another head (you know exactly what I mean). When his mind cleared, he made a decision and typed his reply with furious fingers.

 

 [LIPPY LINGUIST_C4_TEXTS BTN MH & JW_6.24AM](https://sites.google.com/site/blueceinwen/_/rsrc/1352356701293/home/sherlock---lippy-linguist/LIPPY%20LINGUIST_C4_TEXTS%20BTN%20MH%20%26%20JW_6.24AM.JPG)

 

Mycroft considered his response carefully. He could have described the operation (in excruciating detail)—the manpower, the equipment costs, the paperwork, the sleepless night—but he settled for succinct. He needed John to get to the bottom of this and time was of the essence.

 

 

 [LIPPY LINGUIST_C4_TEXTS BTN MH & JW_6.25AM](https://sites.google.com/site/blueceinwen/_/rsrc/1352356764992/home/sherlock---lippy-linguist/LIPPY%20LINGUIST_C4_TEXTS%20BTN%20MH%20%26%20JW_6.25AM.JPG)

 

 

John was bubbling with tension, couldn’t stand the suspense. He had to know the truth. Were they sleeping together? And he didn’t mean actually sleeping. He meant ‘ _sleeping’_. The kind where they’re actually having sex and sleeping very little. He chose his moment carefully then pulled Sherlock into the bathroom for a quick drilling (you know, for information not sex).

 

 

“Are you sleeping with her?” He kept his voice level, he was sure of it.

 

 

Sherlock frowned and then tilted his head in question. “Yes?” he offered tentatively. He was genuinely confused and quite frankly unsure which connotation of ‘sleeping with’ John was using. It's always best to be vague in these situations.

 

 

“So, you and she are sleeping in your bed. Together? At the same time?” John tried to be very clear.

 

 

Sherlock nodded, still frowning. He sensed (correctly) that the situation was fraught with deeper meaning. So, he decided to go with smart-ass instead of honest and answered John’s question with a correction. “She and I.”

 

 

John’s eyes moved closer together (because of the frowning). Then he rolled his eyes for good measure and gave Sherlock the look. It said, “Don’t be a fucker.”

 

 

Sherlock understood the look perfectly, which really sped things along. “Yes, John," he huffed. "Don’t make me repeat myself. You know how I hate that.” He huffed again. “What seems to be the problem?”

 

 

“It’s not a problem, Sherlock. I’m just a little surprised is all.” Now, John felt an uncomfortable flush rising on his cheeks (the ones on his face). So, he took a moment to silently berate himself for his lack of foresight and then went on to steadfastly regret the fact that he’d walked right into this conversation.

 

 

It was on the tip of his tongue. All he had to do was form the words with his mouth.

 

 

However, before he could Sherlock did that quasi-mindreading thing he does and answered with a succinct, “ _No_.” It was obvious, from Sherlock’s slight smirk and John’s mounting frustration that it could have been the answer to  _any question_. Unfortunately, there were quite a few to choose from (taking into account all of the closed-ended type questions in existence) so John felt the need to clarify which one Sherlock had chosen to answer. He tried the look again and added the eyebrows for good measure. He shifted his body, effectively blocking the only exit. Sherlock had switched to actively scowling at him now and his body language clearly indicated a desperate need to leg it the hell out of there.

 

 

John went forward and stumbled around a bit with his words. “Is it… are you… did you…  have you two…” He made a vaguely crude two-handed gesture between them. They both shook their heads (in disgust) at the same time, which was amusing.  _Thank the almighty Gatiss,_  thought John. The situation could really use a bit of humour. It was starting to physically hurt, what with all the awkward unacknowledged emotions and the complicated boundariless relationship and the assassin (or ninja, or linguist, or whatever) downstairs.  “Are you two having sex?” When John mumbled, he took it to a whole new level.

 

 

Sherlock took a deep breath and smiled gently at John. “No, John. We’re just sleeping together.”

 

 

John did a good job of rolling his eyes, stifling a smirk and shaking his head at the same time. That, he realized, was all he was going to get out of Sherlock Holmes so he decided to cut his losses and get the hell out of there. “Right,” he said, “Glad we could have this chat.” Then, he nodded sagely, patted Sherlock on the shoulder before spinning around so that he could open the door that would free them both from the skin-crawling discomfort associated with having ‘the talk’ with your mostly asexual roommate.

 

 

As soon as Sherlock was out of sight he started typing a message to Mycroft. He kept it purposefully vague and hit send. No point in wasting a perfectly good opportunity to irritate Mycroft. 

 

 

[ LIPPY LINGUIST_C4_TEXTS BTN MH & JW_10.43AM](https://sites.google.com/site/blueceinwen/_/rsrc/1352357205553/home/sherlock---lippy-linguist/LIPPY%20LINGUIST_C4_TEXTS%20BTN%20MH%20%26%20JW_10.43AM.JPG)

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

**THE NEXT DAY LOOKED MUCH THE SAME** except for the target practice. Mrs. Hudson wouldn’t be pleased when she found out. That poor wall. Regardless of the hideous wallpaper, John wasn’t entirely convinced that it _did_ have it coming. Sherlock explained that they needed to calibrate the dart gun before they had to use it in the field. It was unclear whether he was talking about a real field or not.

 

Sherlock had abandoned his phone on the coffee table sometime in the early morning so it was up to John to monitor any incoming calls or messages. Just as John was about to get up to make some fresh tea, it had started ringing.

 

“Do you want me to get that?” It rang several times in John’s hand.

 

“Who is it?” Sherlock asked mid-aim.

 

“Your brother.”

 

“ _Ignore_.” He pulled the trigger and the dart sunk into the wall. Left eye of the happy face.

 

“I love it when you do that.” She smirked. It was hard to tell if she was talking about ignoring his brother or shooting the poor happy face.

 

“I _know_.” Sherlock looked well pleased with himself.          

 

Shortly after Mycroft’s call was ignored, he sent a text to Sherlock’s phone. John heaved another sigh and then read it aloud.

 

[LIPPY LINGUIST_C5_TEXTS BTN MH & SH_10.26AM](https://sites.google.com/site/blueceinwen/_/rsrc/1353049532253/home/sherlock---lippy-linguist/LIPPY%20LINGUIST_C5_TEXTS%20BTN%20MH%20%26%20SH_10.26AM.JPG?height=320&width=213)

 

It was received with a chorus of snickers. 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

THE PERSONAL BLOG OF  
Dr. John H. Watson  
---  
25th April  
  
##### The Lippy Linguist (unposted)  
  
…

That was the most cryptic flirting I have ever witnessed. I wonder if they realize? I'm a bit exhausted from just watching to be honest. They went on all day and it continued long into the night. When it was finally time for bed, she dragged the lilo out of Sherlock’s room and propped it up against the wall. I was informed that it was only in there for storage now.

 

For the first few nights, she’d somehow managed to fit it in between Sherlock’s bed and the dresser. Apparently, they bounce ideas back and forth while they drift off to sleep. Is that some kind of genius pillow talk? More flirting? Or just like-minds gravitating towards one another? Who the hell knows. Certainly not me. I still don't know what's going on in there.

…   

   
  
 

* * *

 

**LONG AFTER THEY’D GONE TO BED** , John was still sitting in his chair, reading a crappy novel to keep his mind off his worries. However, his brain was being quite uncooperative and kept gnawing at the conspicuous absence of Mrs. Hudson’s lilo from Sherlock’s bedroom.

 

It was late—2 a.m. at least—when she slipped down the stairs [like a silent ninja] to get a glass of juice. John almost didn’t notice—almost—except she sat down opposite him. She was wearing a T-shirt and a pair of silk pyjama bottoms and nothing else. John felt his heart thud wildly inside his ear canal.

 

“You’re up late. Can’t sleep?” She folded her bare feel under herself.

 

“ _Ahem_ … No. Actually.”

 

“Worries?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“About me?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“Care to elaborate?”

 

“No. Not really.” He wasn’t that stupid.

 

“Oh, don’t be jealous. I’m only here for a short time. You get him for the rest of the year.”

 

“What? No. You’ve got it wrong. I’m not jealous. Why would I be jealous?” He shrugged. “That’s just silly.”

 

Orbital roll. “Really, John. I expect more from a man like you. Aren’t you supposed to be emotionally aware?”

 

John was taken aback by what she said. “I… I’m just a man. And I think I might be emotionally stunted at the moment.” He chuckled softly.

 

“Oh, I doubt that. You’re a darling. You take care of him. I know you do.”

 

“Somebody has to.”

 

“Yes, it’s you or **_him_** isn’t it?”

 

“Who now?”

 

“You know— ** _the brother_**.”

 

John nodded in understanding. “Oh, yes. Mycroft.”

 

“You really should avoid saying his name you know. I’m pretty sure he’s programmed the surveillance equipment to notify him immediately whenever anyone in this flat utters one of his ‘key words’.”

 

John frowned. “Are you kidding? What am I saying… Of course you’re not kidding.” Pause. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

They sat there sharing an extended silence while he drank his cold tea and she her juice. John did this all the time with Sherlock but it was somehow different with her. Luckily, she broke first.

 

“Aren’t you going to ask me?”

 

“Ask you—what?”

 

“Go on. Ask your question.”

 

John thought long and hard [in the time allotted] before he came up with his question. “What are your intentions towards Sherlock?”

 

“Oh my. That’s an eloquent way to phrase it. You **_are_** a gentleman. How quaint.” She smiled softly at John. “I’m his friend. He’s my friend. We enjoy solving puzzles together.” She shrugged.

 

“Is that it?”

 

“That’s quite a lot, if you ask me.”

 

“No, you’re right. It is. But you seem like a lot more than a friend to me.”

 

“How so?”

 

“When you tell him to eat—he eats. When you tell him to come to bed—he does. Never mind the fact that you’re sleeping with him. Do you know how rare that is?”

 

“Do you?”

 

John didn’t answer right away. “I… I guess I don’t. Not really. I only know about his life since I met him—since I moved in. I know very little about his life before. Do you?”

 

“Clever, John. Good questioning technique.” She smiled and folded her hands in her lap. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. But then that’s part of what I do.”

 

“I don’t even know what that means.”

 

“I know. That’s a good thing. That’s a healthy thing. Believe me John, it’s better this way.”

 

“I believe you.”

 

“You’re a good man, John. I’m glad he has you.”

 

After she’d walked away, he muttered, “He doesn’t have me…” under his breath. However, before those four words were out of his mouth he recognized them for what they were—a lie.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 


	6. Chapter 6

**MYCROFT HAD LONG** since initiated security protocol #3, effectively creating an insulated surveillance bubble around John and Sherlock. In addition to their comings and goings being constantly tracked by an army of  security personnel via an extensive array of CCTV cameras, their personal communication devices were also regularly scanned for suspicious contents. The unposted blog entry was brought to Mycroft’s attention almost immediately. After reading it, he decided it would be in John’s best interests (in terms of retaining that healthy lifespan he was so fond of) if he left him a little note at the top of the document. 

 

A few minutes later, John received a text. Mycroft is nothing, if not impatient. 

 

[LIPPY LINGUIST_C6_TEXTS BTN MH & JW_1.23PM](https://sites.google.com/site/blueceinwen/_/rsrc/1354065703635/home/sherlock---lippy-linguist/LIPPY%20LINGUIST_C6_TEXTS%20BTN%20MH%20%26%20JW_1.23PM.JPG)

 

 

After scanning the text message, he moved directly to his laptop and clicked on the offending file. He cursed, “ _Dammit Mycroft_ ,” as he read through the message. His voice was a touch too loud and he must have sounded thoroughly pissed off. The combination was enough to get Sherlock’s interest. As if by magic, Sherlock materialized directly over John’s shoulder. He prevented John from closing the lid with a restraining hand on the screen.

 

 

“What did he do _now_?” Sherlock asked, his voice soft but laced with something akin to dread. He held the screen in the upright position, stubbornly preventing John from slamming it closed. He was quiet a moment after he read the note.   

 

 

 

* * *

> **John,**
> 
> **I would advise against keeping this sort of thing on your personal computer and I would certainly not recommend that you post anything about Sherlock’s ‘friend’ as you put it. Sherlock would not benefit from your demise and I fear that postings such as this one may very well lead to that end.**
> 
> **An interesting international incident involving your recent houseguest has come to my attention. Since you won’t take my word for it, I will have the dossier sent over. Consider the contents carefully before you take any action John. My assistant will be by shortly to deliver the file. Do let her in. Don’t be stubborn John. If you won’t listen to me then at least listen to reason.**
> 
> **MH**

* * *

 

 

 

“You may…” Sherlock started tentatively, “want to follow his advice, John. _Just this once,_ ” he added quickly. He looked at John with what he thought was reassurance. “At least until we get a look at that dossier, hmm?” It didn’t work. John couldn’t feel any less reassured. However, he nodded his head in the affirmative. He was just as curious as Sherlock was about this international incident.

 

 

They didn’t have long to wait. Downstairs, the bell rang, followed quickly by the chirpy greetings of Mrs. Hudson, followed by the muffled tap of high-heeled shoes on the staircase. When she reached the door to their flat, she knocked three times in quick succession. Sherlock was already on his feet, demonstrating a level of motivation usually reserved for a really good homicide case. He swung the door open with a gusty swoosh that sent his dressing gown snapping around his knees. “ _Minion_ ,” said Sherlock by way of greeting, as he inclined his head ironically.

 

 

“ _Sprog_ ,” she replied half-heartedly. Sherlock was annoyed when her eyes never rose from her damnable phone and her face showed no reaction to his slight but he refused to let himself get distracted. In her hand, pressed firmly between two viciously manicured fingers, she held the file. Before she could jab Sherlock in the chest with it, he snatched it out of her hand. She turned and left without another word and Sherlock slammed the door behind her.

 

 

Sherlock made his way across the room in a couple of long strides. He plopped himself down on the sofa next to John. He wiggled his rear end into the sofa cushions until he was nicely wedged up against John’s side. Sherlock flipped through the documents, scanning for pertinent details while John read the case summary with care. 

 

>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> * * *
> 
>   
> **INCIDENT REPORT**
> 
> **|Redacted Version|**
> 
> * * *
> 
>  
> 
> **The Special Envoy to the Collaborative International Science and Technology Consortium for Military Applications was kidnapped, held for 24 hours and thoroughly interrogated. He was attacked in his hotel room, while he slept. He woke blindfolded and gagged. His assailant then injected him with an unknown substance before she began questioning him. The drug rendered his limbs paralysed for several hours. This unknown substance also resulted in the compulsion to tell the truth. He swears that he couldn’t help himself. He said it felt like some kind of truth drug. He divulged a number of state secrets, an arsenal of technological secrets, and quite a selection of personal details that if revealed, would result in a number of international scandals.**
> 
> **He was blindfolded but he was certain that his captor was female. He could not place her accent however due to the fact that she switched between a British, French and a very convincing American accent throughout the interrogation.**
> 
> **There were no witnesses. The assailant was not caught on any surveillance camera coming or going, either inside of the hotel or within a three-block radius. The assailant was also wearing gloves the entire time.**
> 
> **The Diplomat was left to recover alone in his room. He was given an effective verbal threat that convinced him to remain in his room for an additional 24 hours before contacting anyone. He was told that if he failed to follow her instructions his wife and children would be assassinated. He remained in his room for 36 hours before contacting his wife and then his superiors. The incident has been kept CONFIDENTIAL at the highest levels to ensure his continued safety and that of his family.**  
> 
>  
> 
> * * *

 

 

 

 

John held the document aloft between two steady hands and remained motionless for several moments. He cracked his neck, then turned his head and sought out Sherlock’s reaction. His eyes were wide with concern and surprise. Neither spoke of the product development that had occurred in their flat only a week ago. There was a lot of throat clearing though and that seemed to be quite sufficient. Mycroft was obviously well aware of the similarities between their chemical compound and the one used by the multilingual female assailant.

 

The message was received loud and clear. John resigned himself to never sharing his blog posting with another living soul. Before deleting his story forever though, he printed a copy. It would be hidden with his other prized possessions for his private enjoyment, at a later date. In the end, he wrote a simple two-line entry that told absolutely nothing about what happened. It was entirely unsatisfying.  

 

 

 

 

* * *

THE PERSONAL BLOG OF  
Dr. John H. Watson  
---  
28th April  
  
##### The Lippy Linguist  
  
We had a houseguest staying with us a short while ago. She’s a good friend of Sherlock’s and he misses her already. I was sorry to see her go as well.

Oh, and I, Dr. John Hamish Watson, do solemnly swear to use sunscreen from this day forward.

[I hope that is sufficient?]

John  
  
* * *

 

 

 

 

Sherlock was stretched out along the sofa with his head propped up on the armrest and his feet elevated at the other end. He could hear frustration and disappointment in every sigh that escaped John’s mouth. Annoyance and resentment echoed off the walls with every angry stab at the keyboard. The least he could do was provide a distraction.

 

 

He considered his options and then decided to pass along a seemingly cryptic message from their friend. His attempt at blasé was lacking. He’d need to practice. He started with, “By the way, John… I really wouldn’t like it if you died.” And then added, “Oh, and I almost forgot. She said to tell you… that you _**have**_ much more than you realize and to stop being so stupid.” Sherlock kept his eyes glued to the newspaper as he spoke. The room was suspended in silence while their hearts thumped loudly. Thirty seconds passed before he heard John resume breathing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE END

(until next time)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to all of you that have left kudos and comments. I'm chuffed that you enjoyed this silly little piece.   
> Kindest Regards,  
> Blue


End file.
